


Headlines

by 8bite_me3



Category: Political RPF, Political RPF - Russian 21st c.
Genre: Alina Kabaeva, M/M, RPS - Freeform, Russia, gps, putvedev
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 17:38:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1436977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8bite_me3/pseuds/8bite_me3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dmitry Medvedev reacts to rumors about Alina Kabaeva.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Headlines

Mid-April 2008

~~~

"Vladimir Putin Divorces Wife to Wed Alina Kabaeva"

Dmitry Medvedev crumpled up the paper and tossed it across the room. 

There was no real reason for him to be angry or distraught as this was simply as case of propaganda promotion, but nonetheless he still found himself to be deeply upset. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the rumor stayed in the yellow press but since its publication it spread like wildfire and now all major newspapers were reporting it. Every media outlet he turned to devoted a headline to Russia’s biggest gossip story of the year. And each time he was forced to read about it he felt a stab of pain in his heart.   
Dima ran his hands through his wavy brown hair as he leaned back in his chair. From his desk he could see the Russian President’s portrait that hung in his office. Even from such a far distance he could feel the pale blue eyes staring at him, judging him. 

He suddenly got the urge to toss the picture out the window. How dare Vladimir look at him like that! He did nothing wrong! It was Vladimir who decided to make it personal! He was the one who decided to throw his feelings aside for PR! Not once did Vladimir stop and think to talk to him about how he was spinning a new PR campaign promoting himself as a sex symbol. No, Vladimir didn’t even think it concerned him. He was too wrapped up in political strategy. 

Dima was quite angry now. He began tearing up all the newspapers and magazines his secretary had carefully laid out that morning. 

~

Dima put his keys in the lock and opened the door. It was dark and he fumbled around for a light switch. He kicked off his shoes and headed to his home office doing his best to keep his emotions in check. 

Yet again he had come home to an empty apartment. Svetlana had left a message on his mobile that she was heading to Saint Petersburg as her father had turned ill (lies), and with their only child in boarding school this meant he’d be eating and sleeping alone for at least the weekend. Why did his wife have to send their son away? Just because boarding schools were trendy didn’t mean it was a good fit for their boy. 

He sighed. Looks like this weekend was going to be a solo pity party. He dumped his briefcase on his desk and headed for the kitchen. Perhaps there were some leftovers in the fridge from last night’s dinner. He really didn’t feel like cooking. 

Nope. Nothing. There was food of course but nothing that was already prepared. What a great topper to his day. 

Let’s see…. cooking is out as he’s not in the mood, he can’t order out as no one will deliver to his apartment complex due to the building’s security, so cereal? Dima began assembling all the supplies needed for his hearty meal of tasteless flaked grains and cold milk when he noticed a pile of mail on the counter. 

More newspapers.

More magazines.

More of those fucking headlines. 

In a rage he swatted the pile off the counter creating a collage of smiling Kabaevas looking up at him. How dare that bitch smirk at him! 

He began stomping on her face. “I hate you. I hate you. I fucking hate you.”

It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t releasing his angry, only building it up. In a fit of exasperation he snatched a magazine off the floor and began screaming at it as he held it up to his face. He bore his eyes into her grinning ones. How he had begun to loath her face. 

No. He loathed her existence. Look at her! She wasn’t even Russian! She was brown, some hybrid mix of Uzbek and Tatar. Pft. To think that someone with such a strong Russian image as Vladimir would get involved with that? Please. And lord was she ugly. Her eyes were dark, her face was wide, and a very obvious uni-brow crossed her forehead to reveal just how un-Russian she really was. Why the hell would the PR team choose such an ugly, fat bitch for Volodya? 

Oh, yeah. 

She wasn’t chosen for her looks. She wasn’t chosen for her minor celebrity status. She was chosen for the sex jokes. Vladimir always loved a good dirty joke, and Alina would be a perfect source for an endless supply of puns and innuendo. 

Well then perhaps it was time that he do something about Vladimir’s sexual appetite. His anger and feelings of betrayal wasn’t his fault. No, he only had himself to blame. Vova’s eyes weren’t wandering but in a way his mind was. If he was sinking to cheap sex jokes as a poor excuse for PR it had to mean his needs weren’t being met.   
He needed to get Volodya to turn his eyes back on him. He had to remind him that he could take care of all his wants and desires. This was just a slip up. He got all wrapped up in the election and lost track of what was important. They both did. 

Dima ran upstairs to his bedroom and opened his massive walk-in closet. Svetlana had allotted him a small space in the corner to hang his suits along with a set a drawers near the floor that he kept the rest of his non-dry-clean-only clothes in. He opened the very bottom drawer and began removing the contents. At the very bottom was a slim black box with some French words in gold embossed on the cover. A long time ago he had purchased some fine lingerie under the pretense that it was for his wife. With shaky hands he lifted the lid…

~

The buzzing was driving him insane! He checked all his pockets, dumped out the contents of his briefcase, and rummaged through every drawer in his desk but to no avail could he find the source of that infernal noise! 

“IVAN! IVANNNNNNNNNN!” He began screaming for his secretary. He hoped for Ivan’s sake that he hadn’t already left for the day.

Within seconds a young man came bursting into his office. “There is something in this room that is buzzing. Find it.” 

It took about twenty minutes for his secretary to find the source of the infernal noise. Lodged under one of the couches in the adjourning room was his dying mobile. Ivan handed it to him with a mocking look, being obviously fed up with his boss’ technophobia.

Like he’s supposed to know where it lands when he throws it. 

Vladimir sat down at his desk and pulled out his reading glasses. There had to be a way to get the phone to stop buzzing. He turned the screen on and was immediately bombarded with notifications about low battery, missed calls, and new texts. Where to start? With many adjustments of his glasses and a lot of guess work with buttons he managed to get rid of the low battery alert. The phone forced him to go through his missed calls, forcing him to revisit the day when he lost his phone during his Italy trip and his security detail had to keep calling it. And now the texts:

went shopping…

It was Dima. Why was Dima texting him about clothes? Wait, why would he go out and buy clothes when he just hired people to dress Dima? Surely those people had already bought him enough.

There was no second text from him, only a black box with an image of a paperclip below. Vladimir was so confused. Did Dima just send him a virtual paperclip? He huffed with irritation and began pressing on the screen in hopes that the messages would get deleted. Eventually the screen went black, but instead of going back to the main screen like he had hoped a new window appeared. It was a picture. Dima sent him a picture. 

Vladimir froze. 

~

Having given up on dinner Dima was sitting in his living room with an open box of cereal in his lap and was staring absently at the television. He had only turned it on so that the apartment would seem less empty, but now he wished he paid attention to the start of the movie (or was it a show) so that he had a distraction from his thoughts. He deeply regretted sending Vladimir that text. 

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. 

He was saving those panties as a surprise for a special occasion like Vova’s birthday or Christmas or even his own inauguration night. What if it creeped him out? Sure Vova was into the ocassional risqué stuff but that didn’t mean he’d be okay with dress up. Oh god he sent that text two hours ago and still no response. This had to mean Vova was upset with him. All he wanted to do was feel desirable and treat his man. Maybe he was too late. Maybe Vova didn’t find him attractive anymore. Maybe Vova was bored with him. Maybe he really was moving on and those rumors were like a secret message of sorts telling Dima he’s been replaced.  
Dima wanted to cry. 

But before he could wallow in tear his house phone began to ring. That’s odd who would be calling at 11 pm? And his caller ID wasn’t picking up a number. Hm. Dima picked up the phone with a tentative “hello.”

“My office. Immediately.” 

~

Dima was gripping the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles were white. He just couldn’t stave it off any longer. He eased his muscles and let the orgasm overtake his body, spilling his seed all over the desk. Volodya was probably going to be angry with him for making such a mess but right now he was too wrapped up in his own pleasure to notice. The intense pace of his thrusts was becoming faster and more erratic Dima felt one of the hands that was tightly gripping his ass let go and trail up his back. Fingers meshed with his hair forming a new grip on his hair. Vladimir was using this new leverage to force his body to meet his trusts. God at this point it would be the sound of their skin slapping together that would wake the whole household, not their heavy breathing or the odd escaped moan. In this new position it didn’t take long for Vladimir to finish. After a strangled cry and a few final thrusts he all but collapsed on top of him.

Dima didn’t know how long they stayed like that, waiting for the high to end. He liked the feel of Volodya’s breath on the back of his neck. It was a real shame they weren’t in a bed. He would’ve liked to fall asleep with his lovers face buried in his neck and his arms holding him close. Vova began shifting behind him, but before he could feel sadness that the magic was ending he felt his lips on the back of his neck. 

“I know you came on my desk.”

Dima bit his lip. Uh oh. 

“Looks like there’s yet another stain in my office to serve as a reminder.”

Dima couldn’t help but blush. They’ve made quite the number of messes over the years. He was happy to hear that Vova viewed old stains with fondness and used them to reminisce about tender moments with him. He felt Vladimir’s lips place feather light kisses as they trailed down his back. He was being sweet. Dima wanted to melt. 

The clock in Vladimir’s office chimed one am. It was getting late enough to rouse suspicious. They dressed quickly and quietly which something of a feat considering their clothes were strewn all over the office from the door to the desk. 

“Dima, what are you doing?” Vladimir was in the process of phoning security to inform them their “meeting” was over. 

Dima was crawling on the floor along the board table looking under each and every chair, “I can’t find my underwear.” 

Vladimir reached down under desk and held up what looked like shredded black satin, “These?”

Dima groaned internally. He wore them so that Volodya could get a firsthand look at what he saw in the picture he texted him. And Volodya liked them very very much. “You know these were very expensive.”

“They were flimsy. You shouldn’t be buying poorly made junk.”

“They’re not flimsy, they’re delicate. Lingerie is supposed to be delicate.” 

“Well if they’re supposed to be like that then you shouldn’t become so upset when they get ruined.” 

“You could try not ruining my clothes.” 

“Or you could not wear clothes that you’ve become attached to.”

“What if I wear no clothes?”

**Author's Note:**

> I opted not to describe the selfie Dima texted Vova. I wanted the reader to decide for themselves what they thought Dima might wear and the kind of picture they thought he might take. 
> 
> In my mind Dima was wearing a pair of lacy backless panties and texted a shot that focused on his ass. http://www.agentprovocateur.com/us-main-nav/naughty/info/cendrillon-brief~black


End file.
